That Man That I Hate
by Verify Me
Summary: Penniless and alone, a girl attempts to build a new life at the opera house. But a meeting with a mysterious man in the opera cellar provides her with another goal: to get revenge upon the masked man! An EC story, and my first phan fic, so please review!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, just so you know, because of course you thought I did.

This is my first PhanFic, please R&R. it will probably come out EC, but I am not sure yet.

Chapter 1

The funeral was quiet and tears rolled down my face as I saw her coffin being lowered further and further into the cold ground. But once the shovels began to bury her I began to think of other things and the dead became the dead in my heart. _Goodbye Mother, _I thought and threw the carnation I had been holding in my hand unto the grave. Slowly turning, I began to walk down the neat rows between the white headstones, kicking the ground slightly with my boots. My mother was all I had left in the world, and now I was alone. I glanced admiringly at the graves of those lucky enough to be wealthy enviously. Busts of deceased aristocracy stared at me with their white eyes, and the extensive poetic carvings on the gravestone made me feel uncomfortable with my simple, "My Heart Is With You," on mother's head stone. The stone mason charged by the letter, and I had spent what was supposed to be next months and the months after that's rent. The gate to the cemetery was ajar but locked, and I pushed myself through. My dress tore slightly and I was approached by a carriage. I waved away the man's offers to drive me home, as I didn't have any money to eat, let alone pay for a cab.

The walk home was not long, but it was not pleasant either. Feeling self-conscious about my dress, I tried to hide the tear making me look as if my hand was stuck to my stomach. My corset bit into me and I longed to take it off the moment I got home, which would be in about forty minutes. _I shouldn't call it home anymore, _I reminded myself, _and Alexis had said I get evicted in 7 days, seven days ago. Damn!_ It wasn't a large apartment but it was convenient, and right across the Opera Populaire where mother worked. I never quite understood if she was actually on the payroll or whether her job was that of a professional pickpocket. In any case, she brought home enough money to keep us alive and with a roof over our heads. She taught me how to read at night lighting a log, since candles where too expensive and sticks burnt to quickly. As a young woman, she had once been "on terms" with a local librarian, then a young nervous man who was prematurely bonding. Although he had gotten married and had a lovely family, he occasionally lent mother books, so that I could enjoy the classics. Then mother got sick, there was nobody to work, I had no skills, used to just sitting at home and reading, so money ran short. All the savings went to the local quack for medicine and soon we were down to two months rent worth of money. Then she died, funeral expenses ran high and I couldn't pay the rent. Alexis came to me with a notice and handing it told me to 'get the hell out of the house.' He never liked me, probably because he, like many thought, that I was somewhat "odd" for the polite term. I would sit at home, when I wasn't reading the library books with a newspaper and study the classifieds trying to figure out the cost of various jobs and whether France was going into an inflation, recession, or whether the economy was on track.

From a young age, mother had always thought me weak slightly in the mind. She loved me nonetheless for that, but sheltered me and protected me until I became totally helpless and spoiled (if a beggar can be spoiled). But once she died, my life changed. I never used to clean the house, and the dust ran up. Laundry, which my mother had always washed with her knobbly fingers, remained lying in piles, until I, running out of things to wear finally brought myself to wash it. In general I was a mess.

On her deathbed, mother had told me, "Go to the Opera, you can make your fortune there." Then she glanced at the only picture of my father we had, and closed her eyes forever.

As I reached my modest house, I noticed my already packed suitcase standing outside, with a smirking Alexis hovering over it. "Goodbye, _dear_," He said sarcastically, "You don't live here anymore."

I did not expect him to throw me out so quickly and I did not know where to go! I recalled my mother's words and decided that it was a good a place to start as any.

The large clock tower chimed three and lifting my light suitcase I headed toward the opera building. It had once been said that a ghost lived under the opera, a ghost from the middle ages and he kept all of the crusader treasures somewhere in the basement of the opera. This interested me and I, having decided from a young age that all legends are based on fact, decided to try to find this basement, and though it would be empty of any living soul, I thought it was possible that I might find at least a place to stay. Mother had told me of a passage from the rue scribe that led to the opera, saying that occasionally she saw horses from the show pass through.

In my bag there was my one treasure. It was worth close to one hundred francs, but I vowed I would never sell it. The treasure, which I speak of, was a beautiful officer's revolver that my father used. In it were 5 golden souvenir bullets, and one lead bullet, "for emergencies". As I approached walked on the rue scribe, I saw it fork with one path sloping downward and the other remaining straight. I followed the descending one, and after about twenty minutes walk I was underground. I withdrew the gun. Although I was not beautiful, or even pretty for that matter, I was young and afraid of dark places where men could attack me and nobody would know. Although I could not shoot for the life of me, I held the gun at the level of my eye where at least it looked as if I was about to shoot. As I walked, looking through the gun, it came as a shock to me that I had hit water. I lowered my arm to my side and my eyes looked down. I had reached a dark lake. My suitcase, which had grown heavier all this time, felt like a weight in my hand. The clothes I had in there were dirty, and I had my corset on me. There was nothing of true value in the trunk so I made a hasty rash decision.

I took out all my clothes and dumped them on the beach, then sealing the suitcase again I tossed it on the water. If I was correct, the basement with the rumored treasures lay just on the other side of the lake. I would be directly under the opera house. I saw the suitcase was still floating, while I was having my ruminations. I hoped and prayed my plan would work, then throwing all else to the winds I jumped stomach to the ground on my suitcase so that my torso was on the trunk while the rest of my body was sprawled out unnaturally above the water.

The suitcase floated, and I with it.

I began to paddle forward, my gun stuck uncomfortably between my teeth. The water was icy and slimy. I steeled myself and reminded myself what goodies hopefully lay away of me. If nothing else, at least I would find a place to sleep. The metal of the gun felt awful on my teeth, and I would have given almost anything to drop it into the water, but I wouldn't.

I saw land ahead after about half an hour. In the distance a dark shore loomed and I paddled with all my might making an enormous ruckus. As I touched the mud and disembarked from my suitcase, I thought I heard a rustle. Although I thought it in my imagination I still raised my gun and poised it to fire. I crawled along the floor with one hand, the other holding the weapon. When I was about ten feet on the shore, I stood up, and at exactly that moment I heard something whiz.

A rope was around my neck.

Firing blindly into darkness I heard a voice say from a distance, "Oh Monsieur, you have very bad aim." The rope tightened, but I luckily threw it off easily since one hand was in front of my face. I could hear the rope being raveled in, I was prepared this time. I put both my hands on my face so that no matter how tight the rope was I could still speak. I could plead with this mysterious man to let me go. As I had expected the rope land again on my shoulders, before it could be tightened, I called out, "SIR, please do not hurt me. I am too young, and I did not come here to bother you. I swear sir, I will leave, only let me go!!!"

The rope tightened slightly and I tried to throw it off. Although it was not tight around my neck, my hands were stuck under it. A man with a light candle approached me. "What have we here?" He said smirking. At least I thought he was smirking. Half his face was, but the other half was strangely covered in a white, seemingly porcelain, mask.

"Ah, a lady." I was terrified; he seemed not to feel any pity. He had not yet noticed the gun for some odd reason, but I did not feel the need to remind him.

"Sir! Please!"

He made his half smirk again, saying, "You interrupted my work, broke into my house, and littered into the lake. No I do not think I will let you go!" The rope tightened harshly, and in desperation I fired one of the golden bullets from the revolver at him. I don't know if it hit, but the rope loosened. I did not need anything more! Throwing it off easily I began to run. The man was standing still and I guessed that maybe I had wounded him. He did not follow me. My eyes had adjusted to the dark and I saw a slim hallway leading away. I ran to it.

I heard him start to move, but slowly and I quickened my pace. The stitches in my side were awful but I kept running. I could not here him following me, so I slowed down slightly. As I ran up a curving staircase, I reached a dead end. I felt around hoping for a doorknob, there was none. In frustration I kicked what I thought was the wall but what seemed to be more of a weight, there was a flash of light and suddenly I was in a well lighted dressing room.

There was a small scream of surprise and I turned to see a beautiful girl, about my age looking at me. She had beautiful dark hair and eyes. She looked at me as if she had seen a ghost, and I was not surprised. I was covered in mud, had a torn dress on, held a gun in my hand and had appeared from nowhere.

She spoke first, " I am Christine," she said simply.

What energy I had left I decided to waste on politeness. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Christine, I am Elizabeth!"

Utterly and totally drained I fainted. Before I lost all consciousness, however, I had one thought:

_I will find that man, and I will destroy him_

Then I fell into blackness!

Well what do you think? Please Review! My very very very very first fan fiction. This will not be a romance between Elizabeth and Erik, trust me, but there will be a romance. If I have not made it clear yet, Elizabeth is not a Mary Sue. This story will basically be about the women in POTO (Christine, Meg, M. Giry, and my creation Elizabeth.). Please tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note: Thank you so much to my reviewers! This story is about Elizabeth, but do not despair, it is also very dependant on the real POTO characters and they will be very important at the end of this chapter and in those to come. Also, it is slightly AU, in this version the managers come one performance before Hannibal, and Christine hasn't sung yet. Enjoy! **

Chapter 2

"Homely little thing, isn't she?"

"Hush!"

"Oh but she is. And she looks ridiculous in your mother's nightgown."

"Its better than the thing she was wearing when she had arrived."

"Is it true she had a gun with her? Did she hurt anyone?"

"Enough, Jammes. Look she is waking up."

I had regained consciousness moments earlier and now stirred my eyes. Above me stood a young ballerina, still in her dancing costume, with a badly hid grin staring mockingly at me. Beside her was another girl, this one with wavy blonde hair and shining eyes. As I moved the blonde applied a cold towel to my forehead with one hand at with the other pushed the one I supposed to be Jammes, not very gently away.

"I'm Meg," she said as Jammes skulked out, throwing _me_ a dirty look. "Ignore her," added Meg, "She's not very nice in general. Mother said that we both had to take care of you, but it was probably just to keep her out of mother's hair. She is always running around and wrecking scenery. She is so clumsy; I am surprised she ever became a ballerina. But enough about silly Jammes, who are you?"

I took the towel off my head and sat up. Meg did not stop me and I understand that my injury must be superficial. "I am Elizabeth," I said, introducing myself once more. I was struck suddenly with the realization that my last encounter with a person

"Good start," replied Meg, "Why don't you tell me exactly what you are doing here? After you had your little introduction in Christine's room, she basically dragged you over here. From what she told me of your entrance, you were lucky you hit upon her, rather than any other dancer. Christine," Meg added, laughing with an apologetic grin, "Has an odd acceptance of the unusual. Perhaps that's why she did not die from shock when she got accepted into the ballet. Her performance that day (other times she was much better) resembled more of a dwarf's sad performance than that of a classical ballet student. She had to dance a week after her father's death. Anyway, you are heavy though! The managers had to call Joseph Buquet to carry you."

I was hurt. Although I was not in good shape, I did not think myself to be very heavy. She saw my annoyance and smile, "Don't worry, Mother says that as a baby I was so heavy that even she, my mother, couldn't lift me to put me in the cradle, and I have only gotten heavier since then."

I felt better and explained; "I was hoping to get a job at the opera "

"And you decided to do it by terrifying our ballet girl. Now I understand everything."

She was so exasperating. "No," I said loudly, "No, see I have been evicted, and hearing about an underground cave, I wanted to explore it, see if it was habitable. . . "

I paused considering whether or not it would be prudent to tell about the strange man.

"I got lost and finally came out into Christine's room. Please believe me."

"Very well, I am not sure I do, but it doesn't matter. You mentioned you wanted a job; what do you do? Sing? Dance?"

I laughed mirthlessly. "I sing and dance as well as a elephant. No, before you ask, I can't clean, cook, or do anything houseworky either. I want to have the simplest job you can offer, and I will be willing to work for food."

Meg looked disconcerted. "Here, I can take you to the managers," she said nervously, then cheering up, "They are new. You could probably steal all of the opera's funds and they wouldn't notice."

"Good Idea," I said. She frowned and I quickly added, not quite persuading myself, "It was a joke."

The managers were in the junk business. They stood before me as if they were compost heaps themselves: miserable, fed up, harried, and not a little annoyed. I was wearing Meg's dress, which was a little too small and short for me. My tall and gangly figure did not impress them and the attractiveness they often found in dancers was obviously missing in me. Overall they were the images of unhappiness.

"What can you do?" snapped one. I longed to retort, "What can _you_ do?" But I held my sharp tongue. Instead I smiled sweetly and said, "I can manage accounts. Before my mother died, I supported the both of us as a maid, and I kept us afloat. I am very friendly, and open, I will not slack. I need food, clothing, but most of all a place to live. Please, Monsieur."

Lies, all lies, but I did not care. Why should I care for some two arrogant managers who did not even seem to have the brains to work with garbage?

"Firmin, may I speak to you in private?" The manger who said this counted out ten francs from his pocket and handed it to me, "Go get yourself something decent to wear and eat for goodness sakes. Be back at six o'clock, sharp! We will tell you about a job."

"Thank you sir," I said doing my best to curtsy. Mother had never taught me to since she had always believed that I should never be subordinate to anyone. I turned to leave the room and was shutting the door on the other side when I heard one call, "Girl!"

I re-entered, feeling very annoyed, "Yes, _sir_?" He did not notice the intonation in my voice and said matter-of-factly, "Actually be back at half past four."

I made my awful curtsy again and left, this time catching a sly smile on his face. I pondered what it could mean as I went to find Meg.

Meg had just come out of rehearsals as red as a tomato. I told her about what had happened and asked if she could escort me to a cheap clothing store. She nodded but asked that I wait till she changed out of her costume, which was some sort of silly leotard paired with green shoes. I supposed her to be an elf. As she walked away I saw Christine approaching and, wishing to make some friends I decided to speak to her.

"Hello, Christine," I said cheerfully. She seemed distracted but approached nonetheless. "Hello, Elizabeth, that's your name right?" I nodded and she said, "Here, have a chocolate, I just received the biggest box of chocolate from an unknown admirer and I know if I eat one more I will be sick. It's rum."

"Is that why you are worried? Because you like rum but can't eat it?"

"What? Oh, no, I am not worried, just tired. During rehearsals I was got dehydrated and had to leave. When I came into the room I found the chocolate."

Meg returned and Christine offered her a sweet as well. Meg laughed happily but turned it down, "No," she grinned, "I have to retain this perfect figure if I want to stay at the top of the class." She hugged her tiny waist and bounded toward me. "Come on, come on, Elizabeth, and let's go, we haven't all day. Hurry up, last one out of the opera is a rotten egg (though not as bad as rotten as the food they serve here)." I grabbed her by the arm to keep her from sprinting away. Christine had shot me a confused look, "Where are you going?" she asked. She seemed bored and I was ready to invite her, "To the clothing store to get something for me to wear. I think I will suffocate if I have to stay in Meg's dress for another hour. Want to come?"

Christine cocked her head to one side and seemed to consider it. She smiled for a moment then the smile disappeared in a flash. It was as if she had remembered something unpleasant. "I would love to but I really have something to do. I am so sorry, but if you want my advice, go to Madame Harriet's shop around the corner, they sell very nice material out of which you could make a dress. I got this pattern" she pointed to her skirt, "from there, and Madam Harriet is very friendly."

"I can't sew." I was ashamed, but I had never sewn in my life. I could stitch a little, but only because I had taught myself how to do it. Meg and Christine looked surprised but not particularly shocked. "I am taking her to Gerrers," Meg explained, and though this meant nothing to me I could see Christine nod at Meg's judgment. "You know Meg, you could be perfect if you just were occasionally more tactful," I said then slapped my hand over my mouth. "Sorry," I pipped out, "I am so sorry."

I was so ashamed, and did not know if she would forgive me. She stared at my face for a while then quietly said, "Look who is talking." I hung my head and Meg smiled, "Don't worry about it. Everybody says that I am sometimes a little blunt, even Christine who never says anything mean. Look at Christine, she is perfect." Christine blushed and rebuked Meg, "How can you say that? I am so weak and bad at Ballet, and this is the second day in a row I did not fold my clothes properly. Even your mother scolded me."

Meg made a noise that sounded like, "Humph. Come one Elizabeth!" I let myself be dragged away by Meg and Christine waved goodbye, walking away as if she was listening to something. "Is Christine some sort of dreamer?" I asked Meg who promptly answered negative, "No, but recently she has been very nervous lately, and kind of weak. It's very strange, but even though she seems sick, she is definitely not unhappy. I can tell, there is something there, something in the back of her mind that is keeping her content, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it is."

Gerrers turned out to be a so-called used clothing store. The clothes were neat and clean but not very pretty. I checked the labels and saw that the prices definitely made up for it. Meg called over an employee and started listing everything that I could possibly needs starting from socks and ending with a corset, "Oh yeah and she needs a sweater, a scarf, maybe some sort of belt, underclothes" the list went on and on and on, and I could see the employee getting somewhat annoyed, "Finally a hair net, one always has to look modest Elizabeth," she added as she swung her own gorgeous hair, "and everything needs to be under ten francs." The workers eyes opened wide but she nodded and began to pull clothes off the rack. I had to admit that though Meg seemed demanding, all the clothes that the lady brought were appropriate and seemed to be a nice wardrobe for about two days. Meg glanced at the grandfather clock standing by the door and tapped me on the shoulder, "Elizabeth," she quietly said, "I have to go. If you don't see me when you get back it is because I have to get ready for the performance today." I was surprised, I had no idea and Meg had not mentioned it before. "Don't worry," she said catching by surprised expression, "Mother gives us a half-day off on performance days so that we don't get too stressed. Good luck on whatever work the managers will give you!"

With that she left and my attention turned to the clothes. Although harried, the lady in the store was very helpful and when I had finally decided what I was going to buy my total came out to eight francs. I laid the ten pound note on the table then thought about something my mother had said many, many, years ago when we still had some money, 'No matter how poor you are, there is always someone who is worse off than you, and all you have to do is give them a tiny bit and they will cross the world for you.'

I realized that whatever job was assigned, I would probably need help. I was sure that someone would do the work for me for even four francs, therefore I removed the apron, second pair of warm socks, and the choker from the table where the lady was totaling my purchases on the back of an envelope, and said, "I changed my mind, I don't want this." She shot me a dirty look but said nothing. The total came out to six-francs fifty. I paid gladly and took the purchases under my arm. _I have money, for once,_ I though tot myself, and I know just where to spend it.

"Where is the poor house," I asked the employee and she raised an eyebrow, "Already giving to charity? You barely have money yourself."

I suddenly got fed up with the annoying crone. There was just a feeling, like nausea that I knew that I had had it up to here. "Shut Up!" I shouted as loud as I could, "How dare you talk to me like that?" Actually, it didn't happen, for a second I thought it had but then I realized it was just my imagination, and because I felt bad about it I said simply, "You're right, but I have my reasons, thank you for the clothes." She brightened and said, "You are welcome. My name is Angelica by the way, I run this store, you probably wouldn't have figured that out, judging how I am not all hoity-toity like some store owners I know." With this she pointed significantly to another clothing store across the street that looked more high-end, "If you ever need any more clothes, or if they get torn, just come here and I can help you, or sew them up for a tiny fee. As for the poor house, although I have no idea why you want to go there, let me just say that if you want to give the money to someone deserving there is a young man named Charles who comes by this store everyday, as his grandmother used to work here, and he just stays a few minutes and moves on. As far I know he has no money except for odd jobs, I let him sleep in my basement, and in the store in the winter."

"I will wait for him then."

Charles came quickly and I was surprised when I first saw him. He seemed to be a dog that had turned into a man. He seemed to be around twenty, three years older than me. His hair was in brown ringlets that fell to his shoulders but looked unkempt. His clothes were ironed and clean, but also, can I say furry? His brown eyes were large and luminous, like a dog's and he was very tall. As he approached Angelica waved to him and ushered him into the store. She glanced at him then at me, and then a secret smile crossed her face.

"Charles, meet Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Charles."

He tossed back his head to throw off the hair that had been covering his face. For a second I was surprised. He was fairly handsome, but very gaunt, something you could not tell from his baggy clothes. He shook my hand firmly and then whispered something to Angelica. She nodded and replied quietly but not in whisper, "No, I am sorry, not today. Don't worry about speaking of jobs in front of Elizabeth, no offence; she has just been hired on a simple one." Charles smiled and said, "Then I won't be embarrassed, I was just asking if there was anything I could do for a few francs for the beautiful Miss Angelica."

The lady of the store blushed but did not seem to take this as flattery. It seemed to be an exchange that they often had.

"Charles," I said as she turned away, "Can I talk to you about something?"

I returned at half-past for, as the manager of the opera had asked. He stood as proud as Lucifer as if he had just invented the wheel. "You want a job," he said almost snickering, "I have a job for you."

I had promised Charles that if I got the job I would give him half of my money and food if he were to help me with it. Only now did I realize how lucky I was. I walked out of the opera back toward Gerrers where Charles was waiting. I had given him the three fifty, with which, I was happy to see, he had bought some new clothes from Angelica. He looked respectable but still horridly thin. The managers had given me a chicken leg and a loaf of bread, and from hunger I had eaten the chicken and a quarter of the loaf until I remembered that he would probably be hungry too. I brought it too him, and this he ate with great difficulty, continually glancing at me.

"Relax," I said, "I am definitely no lady, and if you had seen me eat my half you would have likely thought I was a wolf from the forest. I know what hunger feels like, eat!" He shot me a glad glance then dug into the bread with a ferocity that I found surprising. His canine look translated into his eating habits, but fortunately he finished quickly. "You are done Charles, now come on, I have an enormous job, but I also have a great idea!" I grabbed his hand to begin running then realizing what I had done, I let go but still ran. He caught up with me quickly and we sprinted toward the large opera house that began to shine as the sun set behind it.

The job I had been assigned was that of the box-office manager, what I reasoned to be one of the hardest possible jobs. Supposedly this was just a 'test of character' but knew that they were taking advantage of my desperation to assign me the worst possible job that did not have to do with excrement. The room where my desk was going to be was empty, but I was told in half an hour that it would be jam-packed. I entered the room with Charles and explained my idea to him, "The rich are as rich as can be they can afford to pay anything you throw at them, the poor are as poor as can be, they will never pay extra. Because this place is going to be crowded and the people are probably not going to take pity on my because of my good looks," here Charles raised an eyebrow, "I am kidding, Charles. Anyway because the whole crowd is going to be a messy rabble our system will work like this: when a rich person comes in, you tell them that for ten extra francs you will take their request first, then if a poor person comes in you tell them that you will give them another half-franc ticket for a quarter-franc, if they bring another person. The tickets of the rich will be forty-five francs instead of thirty-five which will make up the difference in the poor people's prices. In the registrar however, we will put that each ticket only cost thirty-five francs, like they are supposed to. All of the extra money will go to us to split fifty-fifty. You are to announce this once, let it spread across the room by itself, then deal with the rich who will pay the extra ten-franc fee. Here is the sketch of the theater seats, the colored in ones are the ones that are already sold, prices on the back. I will be surprised if we don't make a lot of money today!"

I finished my explanation and he looked at me like an idiot. I saw nothing difficult in what I had said so I curtly asked, "What didn't you understand Charles?"

He realized how stupid he looked he fixed his expression and said, "Are you sure you are a girl?" I thought I caught his meaning, but hoping that I was wrong, I said nothing.

He sat down at a small table across the room and leaned his elbows on the table. I sat down at my desk and to my surprise found an envelope with a red skull seal on it that looked newly melted. I opened it to read,

_Dear Box-office Manager,_

_I welcome you to my opera and wish you all the success, a note however on ticket sales. Box five is to remain unsold as I use it for my own purposes. If you sell it I shall know you do not recognize my authority and will take the proper steps. If you have any doubts or concerns please see the contract I am enclosing. Again welcome to your new post, and welcome to the opera house._

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G_

_(Opera Ghost)_

"Charles," I called to him, "No don't get up. Don't sell box five, no matter how much people offer for it."

"I understand," he called back.

Then the people came.

They flooded the room, but we stuck to my plan. The registrars remained legal, while we technically embezzled. The poor filled up the room since for once they could afford to bring friends and smiles lit up their thin faces. The rich paid plenty of money into our pockets to be served first, and did not seem to notice the change in prices. Everyone was happy, but most of all Charles and I.

As the performance began, Charles and I could finally rest. Our hands, our minds, and our morals were exhausted and I walked over to him. "Charles, darling," I purred, "I have a total of three hundred francs, including the poor's ticket reduction, how about you?"

He held up to fists and the desk was fill of coins, "Two hundred and fifty, my divine girl." We seemed ready to kiss each other from happiness, but of course we didn't. After a hug of jubilee we counted out two hundred and seventy five francs for each of us. "And now Charles," I said with pretend gravity, "I have another treat for us. Because you did not sell box five, we are going to watch the performance from the best spot in the house!"

**Kinda long, but what do you think? There will be a lot more Christine and Erik and Raoul interaction in the next chapter. I promise. Please review!**


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